Holiday Fun
by WinterSun
Summary: Chapter Seven Yes, it's back! The Christmas story in June. Hope you're all surviving CI withdrawal season...Eames and Goren continue their investigation of both the murder of Mandy Turner and of Eames' husband, adding coworker Detective Decovy to their
1. Congratulations and Concerns

Title: Holiday Fun

Author: Kerry, aka WinterSun

Disclaimer: If I owned anything relating to Law and Order: CI, we would be watching new episodes instead of Christmas movies, guaranteed.

A/N: This is my first attempt at LO CI fanfic, so if it's terrible, my apologies. Reviews are much appreciated!

**_Chapter One: Congratulations and Concerns New York City, New York_**

**New York City, New York**

"Congratulations, Mr. Turner," she purred, approaching the man from behind. He spun, startled.

"You gave me quite a scare there, Mrs. Turner," he replied playfully. Sighing contentedly, he gazed out over the room. "It's amazing, isn't it?" They stood in the doorway of a grand dining hall; milling about were famous politicians and lawyers Scott Turner would previously only have dreamed of meeting. And yet here they were, not only here to celebrate _with_ him, but to celebrate _for _him. If he could just bottle how he felt right now…

"It is indeed," she said, slipping her arm around his waist. "But you deserve it." No one familiar with the Turners' case would disagree. Born the son of a New York City mechanic, life had been nothing but a struggle for Scott as he fought to put himself through college, then law school, then into a top position in his law firm. For the last few years, he had been vying for the position he was currently being honored for: the 2006 Republican nomination for a Senator of New York. He had started to think it was never come to pass, and all that his trials had been in vain – how wrong he had been, and he couldn't be happier about it.

"I only wish the girls were here to see this."

"I'm sorry?" Caught up in his contemplation, he hadn't realized Michelle had begun to speak again.

"I just wish the girls were here tonight; it's a shame they have finals next week and can't afford to miss studying time."

"I just wish my father were." Only a month before the nominations were announced, Mr. Turner Sr. had passed away after undergoing cardiac arrest.

"I'm sure he's looking down on you and smiling," she comforted him, raising her hands to turn his face towards hers. He smiled weakly, staring into her eyes.

"You think?"

"Honey, I know." Reaching up, she placed a gentle peck on his lips. "Now go out there and make me proud."

"I'll try." He raised her hand to his lips in a mock chivalrous gesture, then strode up to the podium, greeted by a thunderous applause. When he next glanced up at her after briefly shuffling his papers, this time, his smile reached his eyes.

**Amherst, Massachusetts**

Mandy Turner gazed out her dorm window thoughtfully. It had only been a week since her father had officially accepted his nomination for Senator, but already she was beginning to feel its implications. A part of her knew it was wrong – she should be overjoyed for him – but she couldn't help feeling a little stifled. Since Mandy had come to Amherst University three years ago, she had become an active champion for women's rights, including the concept of Pro-Choice. However, her father was highly anti-abortion; it was in fact a main facet of his campaign.

"Mandy! You coming??" Her best friend and roommate, Danielle "Danny" Marks yelled from the stairway outside their room.

"Just a minute!" she called back, unfolding herself to grab her over-packed duffel bag.

"Well, hurry up! Vermont is waiting!" With one last look at the place she had come to call home, Mandy locked up and headed downstairs.

**Killington, Vermont**

"Yeah, yeah," Usher belted out over the loudspeakers the next night, a Saturday at one of Killington's most popular clubs. The atmosphere was overwhelming even for Mandy: deafening music blaring, multicolor lights flashing, girls screaming, and, of course, the packed mass of college students grinding out on the dance floor.

"Hey, baby," her boyfriend of two years approached her from behind, throwing his arms around her and swaying them to the music. "I've been looking for you all day."

"We only got in an hour ago," she replied, spinning on the bar stool to face him. Paul was a handsome man, with jet-black hair and deep green eyes. "How are you?"

"I'd be better if a certain gorgeous young lady would deign herself to dance with me," he answered, a twinkle in his eyes. Grinning, she stood, still in the circle of his arms. "I got you a drink," he added, handing it to her. Downing its bittersweet taste in one shot, she followed his muscular frame out onto the dance floor and within minutes lost herself in the music.

_Several Days Later_

The ski trip was coming to a close two days later when Mandy, walking through the lodge with Danny, was suddenly pulled aside. Danny couldn't discern anything about the figure through its ski-suit and helmet – not even whether it was a man or a woman, never mind whether it was someone she knew or not. The topic of their conversation looked serious, however, and when Mandy returned it was with a grim expression on her face.

"I'm not going to be able to come back with you guys tonight," she stated somberly.

"Why not?" It wasn't like Mandy to be spontaneous; she was instead the type who kept to a strict schedule and color-coded her notebooks.

"I uh, can't exactly say," she stumbled. "But I'll be back in time for our holiday party on Tuesday, don't worry."

"Okay…" Danny replied, feeling uneasy. "You're sure everything is okay?"

"Oh, yea!" Mandy absentmindedly tucked an escaped strand of hair behind her ear. "You know I'd tell you if it were anything important."

"I know. Just in case, I'll have my phone with me – you know the number, call whenever."

"A privilege I will take advantage of, rest assured," Mandy laughed. "Hey – tell Paul I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye to him, but that I'll be back soon?"

"No problem."

"Thanks! I'll see you Tuesday, then." The girls embraced, and before Danny had a chance to say anything further, Mandy was gone.

**New York City, New York**

"You look tired," Detective Robert Goren of the New York City Major Case Squad commented over dinner over a hundred miles away a few days later.

"How perceptive of you," his dwarfed partner, Detective Eames responded sarcastically, her head in her hands and her eyes half closed. "It's been a long day."

"It's been a long year."

"And almost over, thankfully." Alex lifted her head to meet Bobby's gaze. "I need a fresh start." He smiled, agreeing without words as they both remembered the more difficult cases of the year. "So what are your plans for the holidays?"

"I haven't really decided yet; I'll be visiting my mother Christmas Day, of course." She nodded. "New Years, I'll probably just hang out with some of the guys. You?"

"It's Nicky's first Christmas," she replied, her facial expression one of mixed pleasure and dread. "So I'll be taking countless pictures of a confused baby in a Santa hat." He laughed, but could hear the barely-there bitterness in her statement. It had been nearly a year since Alex had been a surrogate mother for her sister, but Bobby wondered if the emptiness she felt inside since she had given birth would ever truly go away. They never spoke about it; that would be crossing the personal boundary line that had somehow evolved during their partnership. But Bobby could hear it in her voice whenever she spoke about her young nephew; he could see the longing in her eyes.

"Well, should you tire of intimidating relatives and crying children, you're welcome to join us for New Years Eve," he offered. She grinned appreciatively.

"I'll consider it." At that moment, the waitress arrived with their dinners; there was a period of silence while they dug in. Chasing after criminals all day is, after all, hard work, and certainly appetite-whetting. 'Winter Wonderland' played softly in the background; Alex allowed herself to relax for the first time in what felt like forever.

"So-" he began before Alex cut him off.

"You know, Bobby, I really _don't_ feel like talking about work tonight." He sputtered soundlessly for a moment, before settling on:

"How do you know I was going to bring up work?" She gave him a look that clearly said "puh-lease."

"You had that look to your face."

"What look?"

"The big, tough 'I'm gonna crack you' detective look," she teased. "Come on, for one night let's just be Alex and Bobby, two friends out to dinner. We have tomorrow to worry about saving the world." He laughed, shaking his head, and consented.

**Apartment of Bobby Goren, New York City, New York **

Despite Goren having thrown the phone against the wall, it refused to stop its wailing. Groaning, he dragged himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes as he picked up the receiver. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of the time – 6:40, much too early for human activity, in his opinion.

"Hello?"

"Goren, I hope you enjoyed your ten hours of relaxation last night, because it looks like we're not going to have any for quite some time." It took a moment for Eames' words to hit him.

"We're on another case? I thought we were off – just paperwork for the next few days, then 'happy holidays' and go home?"

"Apparently, God has decided to punish us for celebrating too early. Scott Turner just filed a missing person's claim for his daughter, Amanda Turner."

"Scott Turner…as in the candidate for Senator?"

"None other." He groaned again.

"Excellent."

"And I thought it was my job to be the cynical one?"

"I suppose Deakins wants us in-"

"In an hour."

"Wonderful."

"Really, sarcasm doesn't suit you." Her only response was the clicking of the phone. She chuckled lightly, and for the thousandth time thanked God she was a morning person, unlike her oh-so-charming partner.

****

Apartment of Scott Turner, New York City

"Shh, sweetie, it's okay," Michelle attempted to console her husband, who days ago had been an ecstatic nominee but had been reduced a quivering bundle of nerves huddled in the bedroom armchair. "I'm sure she's fine; you know Mandy, she can handle herself." She couldn't hide the crack in her voice; fortunately Scott didn't notice.

"How can you possibly know that? You know Mandy never did anything out of the blue-"

"Something probably just came up that she couldn't do anything about; we'll probably get up to Vermont and find her laughing in the lodge, sipping hot chocolate and wondering why we look so concerned."

"Without telling Danny? They've known each other since fifth grade, they tell each other everything."

"Maybe she tried, and couldn't get through," she sighed. At least he was beginning to calm down. "Look, the point is, there's nothing to be gained from worrying about it now. The police will be here in a few hours; we'll see where it goes from there. We don't want to get all worked up about nothing." He nodded; she kicked out the recliner portion of the chair, rubbing his arm soothingly. "In the meantime, you should be getting some rest."

As he drifted off slowly, tears still sliding down his cheeks, she stood and walked to their full-length mirror. In her own reflection, she could see so much of their daughter. She sank to her knees, hiding her head in her hands. "Oh, Mandy," she cried softly, "Please, God, keep her safe…"

Review make me a very very happy Kerry, so please leave one:) Constructive criticism is welcome – but be kind, it's my first attempt at a criminal intent fanfic. Many thanks!!


	2. Choices and Revelations

Title: Holiday Fun

Author: Kerry, aka Winter-Sun

Disclaimer: Hm…nope, don't own Law and Order characters, or The Darkness, or Killington Mountain…God I wish I did though. D

A/N: In case some of this might get controversial (very very slightly, if so), I don't mean to be offensive to anyone. And so far as Killington goes, I've only been there once unfortunately (we ski at Okemo Mountain, an hour away). All I know about it is that it is a very advanced, very successful mountain that college students frequently visit – the rest I will be taking liberty with. That being said, enjoy!

**_Chapter Two: Choices and Revelations_**

7:50 am

"Coffee?"

"I'm good, thanks," Alex declined, holding up her own cup as her partner approached their desks a little over an hour later. "But come on, Deakins is waiting for us." She grabbed a folder and headed into his office; Bobby followed, mug in hand. "Good morning, sir."

"Good morning," Deakins replied, though his facial expression said differently. "Look, I'm sorry to call you two in for this with only two days remaining before your vacation break."

"It's okay, we're always up for some holiday fun." Alex's words didn't entirely mask the annoyance in her voice, Bobby noted. He took a seat in front of Deakins desk; Alex stood behind him.

"I'm glad. As you know, Amanda Turner was reported missing earlier this morning. Her roommate Danny Marks called Mr. and Mrs. Turner last night, when Amanda failed to turn up for the holiday party their floor was having. Apparently, she had stayed in Vermont, where the ski club was last weekend, for a few extra days without explaining why. Danny says that Amanda had promised to return by Tuesday, and if we go by Danny's word, Amanda was never late for anything."

"Roommate?"

"She is a junior at Amherst College in western Massachusetts," Deakins explained.

"And this case is under our jurisdiction why?"

"Because of her father, who as I'm sure you know is running for a seat in Congress. It sounds like they fear that one of Scott Turner's enemies is behind this." Deakins rummaged through the papers on his desk briefly before pulling out a folder. "Here's her file, her picture, etc." Looking up at them was a beautiful young woman whose passion for life was evident even in the picture. Her strawberry-blonde hair fell down to about shoulder-length, framing a pretty face highlighted by bright blue eyes. Alex leaned over Bobby's shoulder to get a closer look.

"That's her picture from…"

"Last year, college ID."

"So, she's"

"Twenty here, twenty-one as of last September." Alex sighed, trying not to think of what could have happened to the bright-looking face; beside her, she knew Bobby was doing the same. "Her parents are waiting for you; they said to stop by as soon as you get the chance." As Deakins gave Alex the address and directions, Bobby rose from his chair and quietly paced. He hated nothing more than cases that involved the tainting of young, innocent flesh; when you coupled that with politics, it was pretty much as bad as it could get. Running a hand through his hair, he stopped and opened the door for Alex.

"Report back to me when you're done," Deakins called after them. "As you can probably guess, there's a lot of pressure on this one. Oh, and your paperwork from the last case is being taken care of." Wordlessly, the two headed to the elevator, Bobby grabbing their coats en route. Once the doors had closed, he turned to her and spoke.

"Eames-"

"Yeah," she replied quietly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "But hey, we'll get to the bottom of this one too. And hopefully in time for some eggnog."

8:04 am

"Make a left at the light," Bobby read. "Do you have her folder?"

"Seat right behind me." He reached for it and began flipping through, thinking aloud.

"No criminal record, top marks through high school – valedictorian, even. Played on the field hockey team, was captain…"

"Sounds like everything a parent could wish for," Alex commented, glancing in the rearview mirror.

"Right up until she hit sophomore year in college, that is – she was taken in for protests in Massachusetts twice, though they don't mention what the protests were concerning. Grades also declined, but they weren't bad, just not up to her usual standard." He looked at Alex to gauge her reaction.

"All of that is relatively normal by itself," she replied, keeping her eyes on the road. "She's finally away from home: she's bound to try new things to assure independence. And college courses are probably harder than what she was accustomed to."

"True," he agreed, "but wouldn't it be more likely for that to happen in freshman year?"

"Also true. Either way, maybe it wasn't good enough for Mom and Dad." They exchanged glances at the red light, both mentally adding that fact to their list of suspects. Silence reigned for several moments, save for the tapping of Alex's fingers on the steering wheel.

"Check this out," Bobby began curiously. "Last year, Amanda was made Key-Note speaker at the annual Women's Rights Conference at Amherst. The topic of the evening was abortion – more specifically, Pro-Choice." He raised his eyebrows slightly, glancing up to meet Alex's eyes in the mirror. "Scott Turner is a-"

"Republican candidate," Alex finished. "Not likely to be pleased with his daughter's course of action." Bobby nodded grimly as they pulled up to the building. Suspect Number One.

**Apartment of Scott and Michelle Turner**

8:05 am

"Michelle?" Scott gently shook his sleeping wife. At some point, they had both finally managed to fall asleep, each retreating from life to be plagued by their own nightmares. She moaned and rolled over, not wanting to return to the far worse nightmare of their reality. "Baby, you have to wake up now. Deakins called a few minutes ago; the detectives are on their way." She pulled herself up slowly, blinking her eyes. Scott could see where her tears had crusted over; it looked like Scott wasn't the only one who had cried himself to sleep last night.

"Morning," she said weakly. "You okay?" _No,_ he thought_, of course not_. Anyone looking at him could tell that easily: his tousled hair, baggy, bloodshot eyes, and wrinkled-from-having-slept-in-it suit hardly spelled an "okay" man. But his job here, he reprimanded himself, was not to throw a pity party for himself, but to be there for his wife. He drew in a deep breath before responding.

"I don't think either of us are – we shouldn't be, really. But I'm sorry about how I behaved last night; I was stressed out. You were right – it's not good to worry yet." His final word resounded in both of their minds. _Yet. _

The doorbell rang downstairs. Michelle quickly ran a brush through her hair – she was already dressed – before following her husband out the door. She found him at the top of the landing, staring into Amanda's bedroom. Standing behind him, she matched his gaze, falling on Amanda's bed. The covers she had refused to give up since they had picked them when she was ten. Her worn out teddy bear she had been too "grown-up" to bring to college. A copy of Ken Follett's _The Pillars of the Earth_…

_No, Michelle_, she stopped herself, feebly grasping the doorframe. _The detectives, remember? You can't do this now._

"Scott," she placed a neatly-manicured hand on his shoulder; he turned. The desolate look in his eyes almost made her cry out.

"I know," was his only response. "I don't like it, but I know." Together they trudged down the stairs, searching desperately for the ability to shut off their feelings in order to survive the next half hour.

9:14 am

"I know this is a difficult question," Alex began, an hour into their questioning. She sat net to her giant of a partner on this living room sofa, across from Scott and Michelle Turner. Both parents looked absolutely miserable. Amanda, or Mandy as they had learned, was the picture of her mother. (Michelle's hair was a few shades lighter, but Alex assumed it was a dye-job.) However, Mandy's eyes were clearly her father's: a clear, piercing blue. Alex couldn't help but wonder how many juries had been hypnotized by just a look. "But do you know if there was anyone who might have a grudge against your daughter? Who might want to…hurt her?" Michelle seemed to pale and sag back even further into the sofa. Scott cleared his throat.

"As I mentioned earlier to your captain, I fear this might be some sort of sick retribution from some of my opponents."

"What makes you think that?"

"No, he's got a point," Bobby threw in, addressing both Scott and Alex. "Mr. Turner's always had trouble from his colleagues; it's something he's grown to expect." Scott hesitated, then agreed. "People look down on him, think he's not good enough, that he doesn't deserve what he has – a mechanic's son, intruding in their upper-class world." Alex laid a hand on Bobby's knee, silently reminding him that this wasn't an interrogation. They had no proof against Scott Turner yet.

"Scott deserves what he has," Michelle broke in abrubtly, sitting up straighter. It seemed to take all of her energy to do so. "Anyone who insinuates anything else has no idea what he's been through. Do they realize how much harder he's had to work to get to this level? It's because he is a mechanic's son that he had to…They should respect him for how far he's come, not look down on him for it!"

"We understand that, Mrs. Turner," Alex stated diplomatically. "If we suggested anything else, our apologies. And for the record, congratulations on your nomination." He smiled weakly.

"Thanks – although it hardly seems important anymore."

"Well," Bobby said, rising, "I think we're done here." The detectives headed for the door, but just before he opened it, Bobby glanced over his shoulder at the Turners. "I meant to ask – we uncovered some documents about Mandy's stance on abortion…" He let the sentence trail off.

"Yes, you can certainly say we had our differences," Scott said heavily. "But we learned to deal with them eventually."

"She changed a lot when she went to college," Michelle added, a trace of regret in her voice and a faraway look in her eyes. "There were times I felt I didn't even know her." All at once, she seemed to snap back into the moment, and her defensive edge returned. "But we would _never_ do anything to her. She was our daughter, we love her!"

Bobby nodded, opening the door.

"Thanks, Mr. and Mrs. Turner. You've been helpful."

"You'll be in touch should anything come up?" Scott asked.

"Of course. Here's our card if you have anything new." Alex handed him their usual business card, along with her own cell phone number. They left the building in silence, waiting until they were safely out of earshot before beginning their discussion. It was a bitter cold December day; snow was falling lightly. Alex tightened her usual long coat as she looked up at Bobby. "Well?"

"Something doesn't seem to fit right."

"Did you notice Michelle's use of past tense? 'She was our daughter.'"

"Could just be a mother's intuition?"

"Could be," Alex considered. Movement two windows above them caught her eye. "She's watching us." Subtly, Bobby followed her line of sight.

"Let's keep an eye on her. Might not turn out to be anything, but" returning his stare to Alex "better to be safe than sorry."

"Mm." At that moment, Alex's phone rang, triumphantly blaring The Darkness' _I Believe in a Thing Called Love_. Shooting a look at Bobby that clearly expressed 'Don't – say – anything,' she answered the phone. "Eames."

Bobby watched in silent amusement as his petite partner spoke animatedly, not realy paying attention to what she was saying. For what felt like the thousandth time, he reflected on just how fortunate he was to finally have a partner who understood him; it almost made up for the failures of his other partners in the past. Bobby knew that the half-frightened mocking of Tucci, Calhoon, and Brown produced a bite whose sting could never fully leave; it was something he had considered a flaw until Eames had come along. She knew it too. She had hit the nail on the head on only their second day working together.

_"Goren," she had said, pulling him into an empty interrogation room when he first started to close up on her. "Look, I've seen and I've heard about your other partners. What they did was wrong, and I myself am fully prepared to ignore it. You have to understand, though: it's not a bad thing to be upset about them. Anyone would be. Having feelings of your own is not a weakness." She had paused, and when she had spoken again, her tone was softer, gentler. "I'm willing to give you a chance, Goren. You have to be willing to give me one too, for this partnership to work. Don't be afraid to talk to me." When Bobby finally found his voice to respond, it was thick, and he was surprised to feel a light prickling behind his eyes._

_"Call – you can call me Bobby." He hadn't had to explain that it was a privelge no other partner had been allowed; he had had a feeling that she had already known. And she had smiled._

As he came out of his reverie, smiling himself, he noticed that she had an eyelash on her cheek. He reached up to push it away, his thumb gently brushing her cheek. She looked up with a question in her eyes. "Eyelash," he mouthed, as she said goodbye to whoever was on the phone. With the snap shut of her phone, they were immediately back to work.

"Deakins," she said, answering his unspoken question. "We've got a hit on the body."

"Where?" She raised her eyebrows as she responded.

"Killington Mountain, Vermont."

_A/N – thanks for reading this far! Reviews make my day : ) Next one should be up in a few days._


	3. Chapter Three: Vertigo

**Disclaimer**: I asked for them for Christmas, but Santa couldn't make any guarantees. Said something about the Law and Order faction of the elves being on strike. And as for U2, though I sadly do not own them, I think they are amazing and will soon hopefully own a ticket to their 2005 tour!

**A/N**: thanks so much for all the reviews! I can't begin to express how happy they make me. And the scene with the Alex and Bobby flashback wasn't actually from the show, unfortunately enough – though I'm flattered that you might think so! ) oh, and my kitty says hi. Hehe

**Chapter Three: At a Place Called Vertigo**

_Wednesday Morning_

_(while Goren and Eames were questioning Mr. and Mrs. Turner…)_

The grail, elderly man looked out on the crowd from his raised position in the pulpit, feeling the surge of power he had come to crave. These people had come to hear him speak; to them, his word was the word of God. Such power provided a feeling like no other: it was a feeling he had always desired, but always been denied. Until now. The last twenty years had literally been a blessing for him. _No_, he justified himself, _it's not like I abuse my power. I only speak the law of God. I only carry out His will._ It was more the fact the people _listened_ to him that enthralled him: here, he had a voice.

"Good afternoon, my fellow disciples of God," his voice was magnified through the church. "The uh- the Gospel for today speaks about the importance of life. In this letter of Paul to the Apostles…" In the pews, Danny Marks and Paul Jamison had already tuned out from the Sunday homily at Amherst's Saint Mary's. Both were absorbed in their own thoughts. Danny had yet to be able to forgive herself for letting Mandy leave with that stranger: why hadn't she been more on-guard? When was she going to learn that Mandy was no longer the daughter of Paul Turner, co-partner of Marrison-Turner inc. on 38th street, but the daughter of Paul Turner, senatorial candidate. She tried to stop the thought, but it crept up anyway: _maybe now I'll never get the chance to adjust._ Danny attempted to inconspicuously brush a tear from her already red-rimmed eye, then focused her attention back on the priest. _You can't break down now,_ she told herself. _Not here. Not again._

Beside her, Paul, a sandy-haired, blue-eyed, gangly and not-normally religious man, was focusing intently on praying for the safe return of his girlfriend. Feeling uncomfortable kneeling – he was never in mass save for the annual Christmas celebration where they gave out free cookies at the end – he simply stared straight ahead, unblinking. Danny had to tap his arm twice before he realized she was vying for his attention.

"I don't trust this man," she whispered darkly, sitting up straighter to reach his ear and balancing herself with a hand on his shoulder – the warmth of which he was embarrassingly quick to notice. He glanced up at the balding priest, who was explaining the significance of Jesus saving Jonas from the whale. Passionately, Father Aglison orated – gesturing vehemently at some parts, and gently, warmly at others. To Paul the priest had seemed like a likeable enough man, but he knew that Mandy and the Father were always at ends with each other. To put it mildly, they had very different views of the Catholic religion.

"Something about him doesn't fit right," he consented to Danny. "I can't get the image of him and Mandy battling over abortion rights out of my head."

"I had thought he rather enjoyed the debate," Danny mused. "He seems like the type open to modern concepts and interpretations. But you're right – there is a certain…air…about him."

"These two passages strongly bring to mind the modern-day conflicts about the sanctity of life. The modern-day trends by which women throughout the globe are ignoring the blessings of conceiving, and are destroying their unborn children. I am, of course, talking about the institution of abortion." Father Aglison glanced up from the pulpit determinedly; Danny and Paul exchanged suspicious looks. "I think by now you all know my stance – the Church's stance – on the issue, so I won't go into that. What I do want to address, and what I am sure you are all waiting for, is our fellow peer Amanda Turner. If you're here today, I'm sure you are at least somewhat aware of the trouble between myself and Amanda. I will make no argument: there is no doubt that we had differing views. However, Amanda is still one of us: I would like you all to rise and join me in praying for the safe return of this daughter of God."

Feebly, Danny rose alongside Paul, finally losing control of her emotion. Paul reached over and grasped her hand, in a futile reassuring manner. As the priest's words continued, Mandy came into his mind, vividly projected as she laughed next to him on their way to a biology class. Her blonde hair blew back in the wind; her green eyes sparkled while she recounted to him her latest adventure with the 'evil girls from next door'. He closed his eyes – she was so close! – and soon Danny was not the only one with hot tears sliding down her cheeks.

_God, _he thought desperately, refusing to let go of Mandy's image,_ I don't ask you for much, you know I don't. But I'm – I'm asking for this. God…please God…let her come home_. Danny collapsed against him; he held her tightly as she sobbed into his jacket, his own tears staining her sweater. In that instant, he realized all the sappy romance songs he and Mandy used to ridicule were true: it did feel like he was drowning.

_Wednesday Afternoon_

"I understand, sir…Yes, we're on it….Of course, not to worry. We'll be in touch." Deakins gently put the phone back into his cradle, as he did so catching sight of his two leading detectives walking in. He beckoned them to the office. Eames led the way, looking determined but tired. Behind her trailed Goren, looking like a lost puppy despite his bulking form. Smiling, Deakins prided himself yet again on the pairing of the two: it was by far one of his best decisions as Captain. They took seats across from his desk. "Find anything?"

"Nothing that makes sense," Goren replied, resting his forehead on his palm dejectedly.

"We were suspicious of both of her parents – but the fact that the body was in Vermont rules them out. They've been attending a series of important Republican conferences for the past week or so," Eames explained. Deakins nodded, absorbing the information.

"Well, let's not forget about the possibility of them hiring a hitman," he threw out.

"We're not ruling it out. But – they didn't seem to have any real motivation for the murder in the first place."

"When we spoke to Mr. Turner about Mandy's stance on abortion, he seemed to have put it behind him. Resignedly, sure – but not angrily," Goren supplemented. Deakins sighed. He hated to do this to them, but the pressure on him from the state was impossible to ignore. Slowly meeting each of their eyes, he began.

"So, you know what I'm going to have to ask you to do." It was the detectives turn to sigh.

"Unfortunately, yes," Alex stated dryly.

"It's only a five hour drive?" Deakins unconvincingly offered.

"We have to drive??" was Goren's only incredulous response.

"It would be more practical," Eames addressed her reply to Goren this time. "We don't want to be stuck without a car once we get up there. How professional would we look if we were traveling to all of our witnesses in taxis? Besides…" She trailed off as a mischievous grin spread across her face.

"Besides, what?" Goren asked reluctantly, not really wanted to know.

"If we were to take the train, where would we put the skis?"

Deakins laughed.

_Thursday Morning_

"And today's weather conditions report that-"

"And now it's time for our morning traffic update-"

"The Honda 2004, the car perfect for _your_ family, and on sale starting tomorrow!"

"And I will stand up proudly and say, I too have smooth underarms." Bobby shuddered in disgust (_what commercials had come to)_, before hastily flipping the channel again.

"Can't you find anything decent to listen to on that thing?" Alex asked impatiently. They sat, for once, not in the car provided for them by the police department, but on the comfortable leather of Alex's BMW SUV. Alex, as always, was at the wheel; Bobby glanced sideways at her.

"It's eight o'clock on a Friday morning, Eames. You give it a try."

"Fair point." She swerved, cursing at a driver who had out-of-nowhere slowed in front of her on the Merritt and provoking a laugh from Bobby. "Something funny over there?"

"You're cute when you're angry," Bobby responded lightheartedly, almost immediately regretting his words.

"I so did not just hear that."

"Er, of course not." Groaning, Bobby gave up and shut off the radio. "Have any good CDs?" Without speaking, she pointed to the backseat; a thick, daunting case of discs peered back at him. Avoiding the sticking-out ski-tips, Bobby reached for it. "I suppose that's a yes." Almost greedily, Bobby opened the black folder; he had thought he would have nothing to do for hours, yet here he was presented with the opportunity to further analyze the tastes of his partner. Alex revealed surprisingly little about her personal life to him; even though they had been paired for four years now, he wouldn't be able to give you her middle name. Sure, the little things he knew: what she liked to order on their occasional Friday night outings (angelhair primavera for Italian; Chicken gyro at the Greek place down the street from their building; and Chinese when they ordered in); what type of art she preferred; that she was a prom queen once, but one into racing cars; little tidbits that he had picked up from various cases. He didn't know the selflessness that had enabled her to carry someone else's baby only to give it up after nine months; he didn't know where she got the sheer determination that motivated her to return to the force even after her husband's death in the line of duty.

He knew Detective Eames, but he had yet to meet Alex.

The CDs began averagely: she had the typical collection of most people in their age group. _The Beatles, The Eagles, Led Zeppelin, _a few of _Bruce Springsteen _(including his less popular albums, Bobby noted),_ The Monkeys_ – he smiled at the less typical _Darkness_ cover. Continuing, he realized

"You have the entire U2 CD collection in here," he stated, surprised, flipping through the coverlets. "All the way from _Boy_ to _How To Dismantle an Atomic Bomb._ Impressive." Alex grinned again, the playful look returning to her countenance.

"I suppose you could say it was a childhood obsession that never really outgrew itself," she explained. "Their new one is excellent, by the way. Have you heard any of it?"

"I don't listen to the radio much," Bobby admitted, studying the red and black actual CD case of _How To Dismantle an Atomic Bomb._ On the cover were the four Irishmen (he knew that much, at least). He chuckled to himself; when he had pondered Alex's taste in men, this wasn't quite what he had had in mind. Bono…he was poetic, charming, musically talented…he was so not Bobby.

"Why don't you pop it in?" _Why not?_ He reasoned. The opening chords of _Vertigo _filled the vehicle as it picked up speed along the highway, at last moving out of the traffic jam that had followed since their departure from the city. Staring out the window without really seeing, Bobby fell into a comatose of deep thought; though later, if you were to have asked him about his ponderings, he wouldn't have been able to tell you what they were. Several hundred trees and houses later, he abruptly turned to and addressed Alex.

"Do you still miss him?" Alex (caught in the middle of _Crumbs From Your Table)_ was unperturbed by his sudden outburst; even without physically speaking, somehow communication was always open between the two of them. Nor did she question the privacy of the question, or the randomness by which it was put forth. She simply sighed, continuing to stare ahead at the road.

"Of course I do, Bobby."

"How did you do it – come back to the force?" There was no answer, only the slightest raising of the volume. Bobby considered it progress.

_Thursday Afternoon_

They arrived at Amherst College roughly three hours later. It was a striking institution, though not by size. The campus was neatly spread over a suburban area of Massachusetts (very much on the way to Killington, fortunately). Bobby especially appreciated the landscape architecture; the poinsettia bushes littering the grounds brought to mind his mother's old garden from his childhood. The New England atmosphere was strong; immediately upon entering the grounds, one had the feeling of entering a powerful, ancient land. Though it was certainly colder than the two detectives were used to, the crisp, cool air was a welcome substitute for the muggy New York City skies. It was only two o'clock when they stepped out of the car, groaning and stretching their legs, but Alex just knew that the night heavens here had to be breathtaking.

With a last quick brushing of her hair, Alex stepped around to the back of the car, meeting Bobby, who was straightening his tie. "You ready?" she asked rhetorically.

"I can't feel my legs and I am in dire need of the facilities, but other than that…" She chuckled, before pausing and facing him. He too halted, lowering his gaze to meet her eyes. Their forms were silhouetted in the noon sun, shadows elongated on the pavement.

"Bobby – I'm sure you will, but remember - these are just kids." He concurred, then tucked his ever-growing folder underneath one arm, and led the way up the hill to Mandy's dorm.

And just for the record…Vertigo lyrics

_Lights go down_

_It's dark, the jungle is your head_

_Can't rule your heart_

_A feeling so much stronger than a thought_

_Your eyes are wide and though your soul_

_It can't be bought_

_Your mind can wander!_

_Hello, hello_

_I'm at a place called Vertigo_

_It's everything I wish I didn't know_

_Except you, give me something_

_I can feel, FEEL_

_The night is full of holes_

_There's bullets ripping sky_

_Of ink, with gold_

_They twinkle as the boys play_

_Rock, and roll_

_They know that they can't dance_

_At least, they know_

_I can't stand the beats_

_I'm asking for the check_

_Girl with crimson nails_

_Jesus 'round her neck_

_Swinging to the music_

_Swinging to the music_

_ chorus _

_All of this….all of this can be yours_

_All of this….all of this can be yours_

_All of this….all of this can be yours_

_Just give me what I want_

_And no one gets hurt._

_Hello, hello!_

_HOLA!_

_I'm at a place called VERTIGO!_

_Donde estas?_

_Lights go down, and all I know_

_Is that you give me something_

_I can feel your love teaching me how, _

_How to kneel!_

_Kneel!!_

_YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH Y EAH YEAH YEAH YEAH….._

_By the way, I completely recommend this album. (How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb, U2) It's amazing from start to finish…..inspirational, moving, depressing, thought-provoking….all at once. The song 'Sometimes You Can't Make it On Your Own' brings me to tears (it's about Bono's dad). Ok, and that's my U2 plugging for the day D_

_As always, reviews are HUGELY appreciated! HAVE A GREAT HOLIDAY SEASON, EVERYONE!!!_


	4. Silence

Title: Winter Fun, Capitolo Quattro

Author: Kerry

Disclaimer: nope, not mine at all. The end.

A/N: happy new year, everyone!

**Chapter Four: Silence**

_Killington Mountain, Vermont_

The hills of Killington, Vermont are quiet at night. Peaceful, even. When all the skiers and boarders have departed for the day, a heaviness falls throughout the valley. Lights dim; the mechanical murmur of the chairlifts at last fades away. A few ambitious parents drag their children out for sledding, determined that not even the youngest of the family miss out on the winter fun. Most, however, simply watch the scene unfold from inside their soundproof condo windows, curled up in front of the fire as they thaw from the day's expedition.

By five o'clock, there is a very scarce population on the slopes. It consists mainly of snow-cat drivers and ski-mobile riders, and every now and then a beginner skier who just can't seem to get down the trail. Time passes, eventually leaving only the snow-cats: their headlights cut through the sleeping valley like a knife in the dark. If a driver is hurt somehow, he will have to wait until morning for someone to come find him. The mountain has gone to sleep at last; nothing can disturb it, and he can yell all he pleases, but no one will hear.

And last Tuesday at 5:17 in the afternoon, when Mandy Turner was attacked on the famous 20-mile-long Juggernaut Too, no one was around to hear her screams. No one was around to hear the gunshot that ended her life, and no one was around to hear the scraping of skis on ice as her murderer sped away in the black night.

* * *

"A couple of kids found her," the on-sight police officer reported as he led the way through the mess of branches and fallen leaves. "A bit of a shock for them, naturally. We brought them down to the ski-patrol hut at the base if you would like to speak to them. A group of girls – sisters – following one of those technically illegal paths through the woods." He paused in speech and in pace, pulling back a last branch to reveal Amanda Turner's final resting place. Glancing back at the detectives – a thin, scrawny man with deadened brown eyes and a pallid face, accompanied by a darker-looking man who loomed tall beneath threatening eyebrows and black eyes – he spoke, detachedly: "Here she is."

Detective Travis Decovy entered the niche formed by the overhanging evergreens first, but showed no emotion for the sprawled-out young body. His partner, the smaller Detective Peter Falver, let out a small gasp but quickly covered his mouth. It was a scene difficult to be unaffected by. Mandy lay on her back, eyes open and staring at the empty sky. However, it was if she had been dead for weeks – months – not merely days. The officer was quick to explain.

"We think she was covered in some sort of acid before burial." He had followed them into the grove, surveying what remained of the body. "It was a good theory: the murderer must have calculated that by the time the snow melted in April, Mandy Turner would be nothing but ash and dirt."

"But he didn't factor in this thaw we've been stuck with," Decovy finished, eyes flashing. Ramlin nodded.

"And lucky for us it came," he added, glancing at his watch. "I actually got a call for another hit – she's all yours, guys." Falver gave a small half-wave at his retreating back before crouching down closer to the body.

"It looks like it was just the one shot to the head that did her in. No other distinguishable contusions, markings…"

"Any traces of having put up a fight?"

"Not that I can tell," Falver stood again. "I don't think there's much we can do here. Just let the ME do his job, you know?" Decovy remained silent, brooding for a moment as he gazed at their surroundings.

"Not a single tree branch is broken," he said thoughtfully. "And the way Mandy is lying – on her back, looking up. She was looking at the killer; whoever it was shot her from the front. But she trusted him up until the last second."

"It was someone she knew." Decovy turned to face his partner of four years, his gaze intent.

"Someone she was vacationing with." Falver nodded and slipped off his crime-scene gloves before signaling to the medical examiner that they were done. It was as good a place as any to start.

* * *

_Amherst, Massachusetts_

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"The afternoon the rest of us were leaving; Sunday, that is."

"The rest of us…" Danny nodded in response to Bobby's hanging question.

"We were scheduled to drive back to Amherst on Sunday afternoon. Some of our friends had finals on Monday, so we had decided to throw our annual holiday party on Tuesday – go home Wednesday." There was a definite tremor to her voice. Paul laid a comforting hand on her arm as she continued determinedly. "When we were heading down to the parking lot – Paul was driving back – she caught sight of someone and went to speak to him or her."

"You couldn't tell who it was?" Alex questioned, notebook in hand and pen scribbling away.

"Not at all – you know how ski clothes are, and she was in full get-up: helmet, snowsuit, gloves."

"No goggles?"

"She had them on her helmet, but wasn't wearing them. She turned away before I could get a close enough look." As she spoke, Alex shifted in her seat: they were running on an hour of questioning the kids. She and Bobby sat across from the pale red-headed, red-eyed Danny Marks and Mandy's boyfriend Paul Jamison, who would best be classified as the 'tall, dark, and handsome' type. The dorm room had at first seemed too small for Bobby to fit in; now, with the detectives on extracted desk-chairs and the students on Danny's bed as well as with the high-tide of emotions, Alex felt as though she was suffocating.

"You keep referring to the person as a 'she'" Bobby commented when Danny had finished. "Is there a reason why you lean more towards that gender?"

"Well, like I said before, I couldn't tell for sure. However, she – it – was wearing a pink ski suit. I guess I just assumed. Like – like I assumed that she was safe." Danny quickly glanced down: tears that had been threatening to spill out the entire afternoon had given their last warning. Alex leaned forward, taking one of Danny's hands in her own. At the contact, Danny slowly pulled her gaze up.

"None of this is your fault, Danny. You can't let yourself believe that it is; Mandy wouldn't want it that way."

"Mandy," Paul spoke dully, alerting them to his almost-forgotten presence, "Mandy wouldn't have wanted to be dead."

"Well, what's your story, Mr. Jamison?" Bobby broke in harshly, seeming to take offense at the young man's easy dismissal of Danny's feelings. "Danny, was Paul at the car when you got there that afternoon?"

"Are you asking for my alibi?" Paul said aggressively before Danny had a chance to reply. "No, I wasn't there, alright? I was upstairs in my room." Alex gave an empty half-laugh as she tapped her pen on the notepad impatiently.

"We're going to need a little better than that, Paul."

"Fine. I had taken a pretty bad fall, and decided to go back to the room. I took some painkillers for my knee, then fell asleep." At the skeptical looks on the detectives' faces, he added defiantly: "Just ask the ski patrol if you don't believe me."

"Believe me," Bobby replied, closing his ever-thickening black folder. "We will." He stood, Eames following suit. "I think we're done here."

"Give us a call should anything come up." Alex took one last sweeping look around the dorm: it practically screamed of normality. Typical teenage posters hung on the walls (Aragorn from Lord of the Rings, Orlando Bloom, some band Alex hadn't heard of); a half-empty box of cookies sat atop the refrigerator in the corner. Their desks were littered with paper; each was bestowed with a laptop. Danny had obviously done her best to quickly tidy up before the detectives had arrived: the two beds on one side of the room (tucked up against opposite corners) were neatly made. Both had fairly plain coverlets, Mandy's with a homemade quilt folded at the end. Danny traced her gaze and rose, crossing the four feet to Mandy's bed. With a gentle hand, she traced over the material, smiling sadly.

"Mandy has had this since she was seven," she said. "Her father gave it to her, some sort of family heirloom. She never goes anywhere for a length of time without it." Alex nodded sympathetically.

"We'll be in touch, Danny." They made eye contact for a moment before Bobby opened the door and ushered Alex out. As the door closed behind them, the two paused for a moment, communicating in a way only they could.

"The boyfriend," Bobby finally voiced.

"He seemed a little overly-"

"Defensive."

"Exactly," Alex finished, drumming her fingers on her cell phone as she checked her messages. "And was it just me, or did you get the sense there was something going on between Danny and Paul?"

"He did seem to be awfully close to her," Bobby agreed, looking down at her. "But nothing positively condemning. Shall we go?"

They had nearly reached the car when a shaky voice held them back. Glimpsing back, they saw Danny Marks jogging after them, hastily having thrown an afghan over her tank top clad shoulders. Her carrot-colored hair blew about in the wind; combined with her smeared mascara, it presented a very dramatic scene.

"Detective Eames?" Alex waved Bobby off to the car, handing him the keys. Without protest, he left: some evidence was best collected woman to woman.

"What is it, Danny?"

"Well," she began, hesitating.

"Whatever you say will not be repeated to Paul, don't worry," Alex assured; Danny glanced up at her, eyes wide and trusting.

"It's just – well, last weekend, when we were up in Vermont, I heard two guys fighting in the hotel hallway. I had been getting ice….the two guys, they sounded like Paul and Jem. Mandy was definitely mentioned."

"Jem?"

"Oh," Danny replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "her ex-boyfriend. I'm not sure if it means anything, but I thought I should tell you."

"That's great, Danny. You made the right decision; thanks for trusting us." The girl gave a timid smile; underneath it Alex could see the person who Mandy had once known. However, the moment soon passed, and the trace of the vivacious young woman disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared.

"Well…I should get back. Paul thinks I'm using the restroom."

"Of course. We'll keep in touch." Danny began the walk up to her dorm: this time it was Alex who called Danny back, looking contemplative. "Danny, wait – this may seem personal; if so, I apologize. But did Paul ever, well, show interest in someone besides Mandy?"

"I suppose you mean me," Danny sighed at Alex's assent. "To be honest…that night, at the bar the night before everything fell apart, Paul got completely wasted. He came over to me and started saying all these things; I don't know where Mandy was at the time."

"What kind of things did he say?" Alex asked, gently.

"Stuff like…'You're so beautiful' and 'it's always been you who I really wanted.'" Tears had reformed in her eyes. "I- I told him he was crazy; he was my best friends boyfriend! I pushed him away and went to find Mandy…I never worked up the nerve to tell her, though." Sniffling, she added: "I don't think he remembers any of it; he hasn't brought it up since."

"Thank you again, Danny." Alex pulled a pad of tissues from her pocket, holding it out to her. She gladly accepted. "You've been extremely helpful."

When Alex returned to the car, she found Bobby deep in conversation with someone who looked as if he was a priest; at least, he had the white collar of one. Approaching, she introduced herself, holding out her hand to shake.

"Detective Eames."

"Aglison. A pleasure to meet you," he replied. "I was just telling Bobby here" - Alex raised an eyebrow curiously at her partner - "how sorry I am for Miss. Turner. We're praying for her."

"We heard there was some conflict between you and Mandy?" Bobby questioned casually.

"Oh, nothing too unusual. It happens when you choose to preach at a liberal arts college like this. In fact, I often enjoy the debate." Something about the way he spoke struck Alex as artificial; looking sideways at Bobby, she knew he felt the same way.

"Well, that's good. We had just heard something about she and her father not getting along…" Bobby let his sentence hang.

"Nothing I knew about." The priest checked his watch. "If you'll excuse me, I must be getting to the lecture hall. Christmas Eve tomorrow, you know; it's a busy time of year for us."

"Of course," Bobby riposted. As Father Aglison's figure departed, Alex headed over to the drivers door, waiting for Bobby to unlock the car.

"Well? You coming?"

"Nah." He remained unmoving by the back. "Why don't we walk for a bit? The thought of getting in there for another two hours is hardly appealing." Alex hid a chuckle: with his long legs and tall build, he must have found the trip even more painful than she had.

"Sure." They chose a relatively open path cutting through the heart of campus: everything was nonetheless still, most of the college students having returned home for the holidays. "It's beautiful up here."

"Did Danny have anything useful to say?"

"Just more evidence pointing to the boyfriend. Apparently, he had a fight with Mandy's ex, Jem. Jem, however, is probably not around to question. Also, in a drunken state this Saturday, Paul told Danny that it was she he wanted to be with."

"Excellent – a love triangle."

"Mmm.'

"It seems too easy."

"I know." Ten minutes later, they had reached the opposite end of the school, and stood overlooking a collection of sports fields: soccer, field hockey, baseball, and a whole array of tennis courts. Alex smiled fondly as memories washed over her. Catching sight of the faraway look on Alex's face, Bobby asked:

"Did you play sports in college?" She grinned up at him, a playful twinkle in her eyes.

"Well, no, but I _was_ a cheerleader, and there was this super-hot football jock…" Unable to disguise it any longer, she broke out laughing: Bobby soon joined when he realized she was just joking. "The look on your face was priceless, Goren!" He chuckled.

"Just for the record-"

"No, I was never a cheerleader. Although, I did give said football jock a black eye in gym softball."

"Interesting prom queen you must've been."

"You bet." They stood for a few more moments in companionable silence, watching a few students start up a game of rugby. It felt almost surreal: the ongoing empty fields combined with the silence of the woods was a scene much too serene for detectives of the New York City Major Case Squad.

"Hey Eames?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry about the way Christmas is turning out."

"Hey, it's hardly your fault. We're in this together, in case you've forgotten." She smiled, raising a hand to turn his head to face her own. Brown eyes met brown eyes: one set deep and soulful, one lively and energetic. "You just owe me some eggnog."

"Done." And he returned her smile.

* * *

_Whoever leaves a review gets a cookie :-). A digitally transmitted one though - do tell me how it tastes._


	5. Suspects and Familiar Strangers

_Title: Winter Fun, Chapter Five_

_Author: Haven't changed identities for a while now, so still Kerry_

_Disclaimer: ok – I took liberties with many things in this chapter. To keep this short, anything you recognize, I do not own. Willie Dunn's Grill, please don't sue me! I know you're actually at Okemo, but I was running out of names…_

_A/N: This chapter's kind of different from the previous ones; it's not so much interrogation and scene-switching. Let me know what you think of Decovy and Falver – I'm having some fun with them. Think that's all for today…enjoy!_

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Five: Suspects and Familiar Strangers**

"Welcome to McDonalds. May I take your order?" The nearly electronic, deadbeat voice slowly woke Bobby in the front passenger seat.

"Yes, thank you. I'd like a 'Garden Salad Shaker' with a diet Coke, please," his partner responded as Bobby blearily opened one eye. Alex glanced over at him as he straightened himself; he must have slept at an odd angle, because his neck was killing him. "Oh, you're up. Want anything?" His mind, still groggy, was having difficulty putting together a sarcastic comment about the quality of fast-food restaurants, so Alex took the liberty of ordering for him.

"We'll also take a Number One with large fries and a second Coke. Thanks."

"Is there anything else you would like to order, ma'am?"

"Um…yeah, I'll actually take a small coffee. Regular."

"Please move forward to the next window to pay for your order." Bobby watched the transaction between the employee and Alex quietly, still adjusting himself to his surroundings. How long had he been asleep…? He glanced out the window; it was positively black outside.

"Here – take these?" Alex asked him, handing over two McDonalds bags. Obliging, he grabbed them, peering at the contents. Alex's salad at least looked edible; he eyed the wrapping of his burger cautiously.

"Your total comes to 6.89." His chivalrous nature kicking in, Bobby promptly offered to cover it. Alex rolled her eyes back at him in response.

"Please, Bobby – it's off of the dollar menu." He grinned, when a shrill ringing from Alex's phone startled him. Still shuffling through her purse, she shot him a look that clearly asked him to answer for her.

"Hello?"

"Goren?"

"Oh, hi Captain." Beside him, Alex groaned. She checked the car clock resignedly: exactly two hours and twenty-four minutes since she had had to think of work. It was probably a record; sighing, she reluctantly listened to Bobby's end of the conversation.

"Yeah, we stopped at Amherst on the way up. Spoke to the roommate – Danny – and the boyfriend, Paul. We also met an interesting character, a Reverend Aglison, who supposedly had a controversial relationship with Mandy…No, no – not that kind of relationship; they just didn't get along…Actually, I don't know." Shifting the receiver slightly, he addressed Alex. "Where are we?"

"We just passed through Ludlow, Vermont. I got a little lost, but we should arrive in Killington in about a half hour."

"You hear that? Okay…Yes, it was helpful; we didn't come up with anything conclusive, but did add some more suspects…Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt, Captain, but we've got another call coming in…Yeah, I'll call you back." He look the phone down from his ear, pressed a button, and raising the phone again, spoke.

"Detective Goren."

"Hi," a timid voice replied, a voice Goren instantly recognized. Glancing over at Alex, he mouthed 'Danny'; a curious expression spread across her face. "I'm sorry to bother you after hours, but you did say to call-"

"Don't worry about it, Danny. Is everything okay?" Beside him, Alex spoke, sounding momentarily panicked.

"Paul didn't do anything, did he?" A quick shake of Bobby's head assured her that he hadn't. Still listening intently, Alex steered the car back onto the highway. Whatever Danny was saying didn't seem immediately threatening, judging by Bobby's countenance and reactions. It did, however, seem intriguing: perhaps Danny had somehow revealed the murderer, his motive, and his method in – she checked her watch – under two minutes. _Ha._

When he hung up, Bobby, now fully awake, quickly turned to face his partner. "Danny Marks. She just received a call from Jem Davis."

"The ex."

"None other. It turns out that _he_ never left Killington."

"Really. Does he know about Mandy?"

"Allegedly, that's why he called Danny." Alex glanced at Bobby sideways in the rearview mirror; he was typing into her cell phone.

"Who are you calling now?"

"Deakins." He held the receiver to his ear, drumming his fingers on the dashboard impatiently while it rang. "Maybe there's something we can arrest Davis for."

"Did Danny mention anything about why Mandy broke up with Jem?"

"Not to me." He paused; Deakins had picked up the phone. "Captain?" We've got a lead on the ex, a Jem Davis. Anything we can bring him in for….Yeah, I'll hold." He glanced over at Alex; they made eye contact resignedly. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

"Jem Davis."

"What about him?"

"He's the only one from the list that's still reported to be in Vermont." Decovy glanced up from his paperwork at his approaching partner's words.

"Still in Vermont….for how long?" Falver took a seat across from him, lowering his head on his elbows to lean on the desk.

"My guess is not long, as soon as this hits the news tomorrow." Decovy groaned.

"What do we know about this guy?"

"So far, just that he attends Amherst College and came up here on a recent ski trip. We can run a search on him, though…" Flipping open his laptop, he typed in his weapon of choice: "Jem Davis…here – a 2001 news article where he was arrested…for drug possession."

"Damn…that's not enough for us to take him in. There's no violation of parole, or history of abuse?"

"No such luck." Closing the laptop with a final click, Falver rose and crossing the room, grabbed his coat. "But it is enough for us to search him, and hopefully get some questions in. He was last known to be staying at the Mill in town; there's a bar there that's pretty popular among the visiting college students. Shall we go?"

They had just pushed for the elevator when an authoritative voice called them back. "Falver! Decovy! In my office." Their captain, David Thorman, stood in the doorway of his office, holding a stapled packet of papers.

"Just a minute earlier," Falver muttered, casting a sideways look at his partner. "Just sixty seconds…"

"I heard that, Peter," Thorman called; though he attempted seriousness, a grin spread across his face, breaking the pretense. "Get in here, the both of you."

"So what do you want?" Decovy asked once they were seated across from Thorman at his desk.

"Just checking in on the case – and bringing news of the arrival of a certain pair of NYPD officers: Detectives Goren and Eames." Decovy glanced up sharply at the name Eames, though his action went unnoticed by his colleagues. "They've been working on the Turner case for a few days now, ever since Mandy's parents reported her missing."

"You're not taking us off the case, are you?"

"No, no – quite the opposite. Captain Deakins and I have arranged for the four of you to collaborate on this case. Goren and Eames should be arriving in a half hour or so, and will be staying at the Mill."

"We were actually just heading there." Thorman glanced up from his notes in response to Decovy's statement.

"And what is this visit for?" Falver stepped in to answer.

"A Jem Davis turned up on our search for Mandy's peers on the Vermont trip; he's the only one still here. We don't know when he's leaving, so figured sooner is better than later."

"Jem Davis, you said?" At Falver's assent, Thorman thumbed through several pages of notes he had received from Deakins ten minutes earlier. "He's in the other detectives' findings too. Looks like he was an ex-boyfriend of Mandy's."

"An ex-boyfriend…" Decovy mused. "That makes our visit that much the more interesting."

"Well, don't let me hold up any further," the captain remarked, standing to usher them out the door. "Here are Goren and Eames' cell numbers; give them a call at some point? Maybe even wait for them at the hotel – Deakins wanted me to stress that this is the daughter of a senatorial candidate."

"We've got it; in essence: 'chop, chop.'"

"Couldn't have put it better myself. Should you find anything important, give me a call. We're closing down here in a few minutes, but I have my cell."

In the isolation of the elevator several minutes later, Falver turned to the taller, darker Decovy. "So – we're not calling them, are we?" Decovy responded with a derisive look that visibly stated 'of course not'.

"This is our jurisdiction, Falver. Our case." As the elevator doors slid open with a ping, he added, almost to himself: "But we do have to meet them at some point, and if I am right about this Detective Eames…well, let's just say it will be even more interesting."

* * *

"Here we are: Killington, Vermont."

"Finally."

"Kind of an ironic name, don't you think? _Killing_ton?" Alex gave Bobby a wry grin as she answered.

"It sounds like a place where we should have been stationed years ago." With a left turn, they were suddenly in the center of the traditional Vermont town: old houses, small thrift shops, and charming-looking restaurants lined the street. "Deakins said a hotel called 'The Mill', right? Where exactly should I be heading?"

"Can't be far…right there, on the left. Excellent; this is where Danny said the ski group was staying, so Jem Davis should be around somewhere."

"Should we try the 'Willie Dunn's Grill?' It looks popular." As they spoke, a group of teenagers entered the dark-looking bar. "Who exactly are we looking for?"

"On the phone, Danny said average height, semi-long sandy blonde hair, and brown eyes."

"Sounds like quite the looker." They entered the bar, grabbing a table and surreptitiously looking around the restaurant. It didn't take long for Bobby's well-trained eyes to pick up on the surfer-type young man at the center of the bar. Used to his observations, Alex didn't need Bobby's significant glance to tell her that he had spotted someone.

"Shall I go get us some drinks from the bar, then?" Bobby asked, dragging his hulking form out of the booth and to the bar.

"Sounds good – I'll just have a ginger ale. Today has been long enough already."

At the counter, Bobby sidled up beside the suspect. Upon closer inspection, it was clear that he fit their description: the blonde hair and brown eyes should have combined to form a handsome face, but come out only – for lack of a better word – sketchy. "I'll take a Sam Adams and a ginger ale," he ordered. Tossing an indirect glance at Jem – who sat apparently alone – he grinned. "So how were the slopes today? We just got up here, but we're dying to hit the trails."

"We?" It was an odd question, Bobby mused, for a stranger to ask of someone who had merely queried about the conditionsIt was almost…on-guard, as though he was expecting people he didn't want to see. People like, Bobby concluded, grimacing slightly, detectives.

"Oh, just my wife and I," he answered smoothly, carelessly gesturing over his shoulder to where Alex sat. "It's our first time up to Vermont in about five years now. You know how it is, with kids, work…Nothing's as easy as it used to be."

"Yeah. Well, the conditions were alright today. Nothing much to speak of." Definitely closed, Bobby noted. "Unfortunately, I have to leave tomorrow; today was my last day."

As Bobby spoke with Jem, two men entered the restaurant. Unlike the two detectives from the NYPD, these had made no effort to "go undercover"; with their customized uniforms and bold gun holsters, they stood out poignantly in the crowd of scantily dressed young men and women, most of whom had by now migrated to the dance floor.

"There – at the bar." Decovy pointed with certainty; before leaving the precinct, they had managed to uncover a photograph of the twenty-two year old Jem Davis.

"And the man talking to him?" Falver questioned. Eying Bobby's muscular build and Armani coat that was just _so_ out of place in Vermont country, Decovy spoke nastily.

"I don't think we'll be needing to give those detectives a call after all, Falver." Starting towards the bar, he threw back over his shoulder, "It looks like they prepared a welcoming party for us instead."

Bobby was just about to ask his new bar mate if had heard about the tragedy of Mandy Turner (being sure to add his increased fear of skiing as a result of it), when he was grasped on the shoulder and roughly pulled back. Incredulously, he looked at his 'attacker'. His immediate reaction was that his man was dangerous; his appearance – and here Bobby justified himself by meaning his facial expression and bearing, not his physical looks – fit exactly the profile of a criminal.

"Excuse me," Bobby began, trying to be polite, "but I don't believe I know you?"

"Robert Goren?" Falver stated more than asked, joining his partner in front of Bobby and Jem, who watched on silently, brown eyes nervously darting back and forth.

"Yes – that's me." Bobby straightened himself; he now stood a good half a foot over Falver's head, and several inches above Decovy's. "And who are you?"

"Peter Falver," he replied, holding up his badge.

"And Travis Decovy. We're of the Killington Police Department, and while we apologize for our rudeness, this man is our suspect and we'll be needing to speak to him. Alone, preferably." Before Bobby could respond, Jem cried out, rising from his stool.

"I'm your suspect? For what?"

"Jem Davis?"

"Maybe."

"We're going to have to ask you to empty your pockets, Mr. Davis," Falver ordered, holding out his hands to accept Jem's belongings. However, Jem ignored him, instead forcefully placing the contents of his jacket on the bar counter. Decovy picked up a packet enclosed in a Ziploc bag with a look of disgust.

"Well, what do you know, Falver? Possession of marijuana. Times haven't changed much." Falver's reply was well-rehearsed.

"Jem Davis, you are under arrest for the possession of illegal drugs." Decovy forcefully dragged the man away from the bar, ignoring his protests and slapping handcuffs on him roughly. Seeing the commotion, Alex hurried over to the bar, in time to catch Bobby's objection.

"You can't arrest this man – I was in the middle of questioning him."

"Questioning me! What-"

"I'm sorry, Detective Goren," Decovy spoke over Jem's ramblings, "but this is our jurisdiction – not yours. I'm afraid we can, and we will arrest this man regardless of your malcontent." He turned away from the bar and from Bobby, and came face to face with Alex. An odd expression slowly lined his face, as a shocked one came over Alex's countenance.

"Ah, yes…Alexandra Eames. No longer going by Mrs. Hewson, I see." He dragged out each word, a sly grin forming as he glanced at her empty ring finger.

"Decovy," she nearly growled in return; Bobby, alarmed, looked over at his usually cool-tempered partner. Decovy only laughed, coldly.

"No need for the hostility, dear. It is nice to see you again, and, as I'm sure you've gathered, the four of us will be working together to bring Turner's killer to justice." The way he pronounced 'justice' made it sound like something you would want to lock your windows and doors against, not something they willingly put their lives at risk for each day. "In any case, Jem here must be getting impatient. We'll be taking him to our local station; you and your partner" – he cast a disdainful look at Bobby – "are welcome to follow."

Several minutes after the trio's departure, Bobby broke the silence that had befallen them, concerned about his partner. Alex truly looked as though she had seen a ghost, and her lack of a sarcastic comment was something not something to which he was accustomed. "Eames," he began, not quite sure how to continue. "What – what the hell was that?"

"That," she answered frigidly, still staring at the door through which Decovy had exited and looking almost eerily calm, "That was the man who killed my husband."

* * *

Comments? Constructive criticism? Suggestions? All welcome:)Have a nice day, people. 


	6. Husbands and Diamonds

_Title: Winter Fun, Chapter Six_

_Author: Kerry_

_Disclaimer: yep, anything you recognize not mine_

_A/N: Hey guys, sorry I've been gone for so long! This chapter took a while to get out…I ended up splitting it into two chapters, so the next should be along relatively shortly. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter Six: Husbands and Diamonds**

The Mill Hotel

_Killington, Vermont_

When Alex unlocked her hotel room later that night, she wanted to do nothing more than pop _Joshua Tree_ into the provided stereo and let Bono's voice carry her to a blissfully unconscious – if uneasy – sleep. Such was a thing you quickly learned as a cop: going to sleep in a quiet room was a feat no longer possible. In surveillance, you were trained too well to listen for every insignificant sound: every soft pattering of footsteps, every snapping of a fallen tree branch. When the same tactics were applied to home life – to every creak as the house settled, to every gust of wind rustling the curtains – the results could be maddening. Hence Alex's rather large CD collection, and hence the fact that the last time she had been at Bobby's, she had seen an air cleaner in his room, the kind usually used for allergies which she knew he didn't have.

She had crossed the room and begun to flip through her book of discs when a deep voice startled her. "Eames." She spun around, gripping the case to her chest, wishing she hadn't already put her gun on her nightstand…and her gaze fell upon Bobby, looking relaxed on her couch. Grabbing a pillow from the foot of her bed, she threw it at him.

"Holy crap, Goren!" He easily blocked the pillow, a cheeky grin lining his face.

"I'm sorry, did I scare you?" It wasn't often that Alex lost her cool.

"What do you want?"

"What did you think of Jem's story?" Alex took a seat at the edge of her queen bed, looking across at Bobby carefully. His eyes met hers steadily: dark pools that gave away a range of emotions if you know how to read them. Alex saw curiosity, but it was overwhelmed by the concern in his gaze.

"That's not what you came here for," she finally responded, speaking slowly without breaking eye contact.

"No, it's not," he responded easily. "But to jump directly to what I came here for would be crass."

"How did you get here again?"

"You stopped for a hot chocolate in the lobby." _Right. Well,_ Alex reasoned,_ there's no getting rid of him now. Might as well play along._

Their interview with Jem Davis earlier that afternoon – a crowded experience, with the four detectives and their suspect crammed into one interrogation room – had been revealing. Jem, it turned out, aside from being Mandy's ex-boyfriend, was also Paul's ex-best friend. Jem and Mandy had dated all through freshman year, until he had planned to surprise Mandy one Saturday morning but had walked in to find Paul already there.

_"Look," Jem had said earlier that day, clearly pained as he made eye contact with Goren, "I hated the both of them from that moment on. Hated them. Mandy tried calling me afterwards – to apologize or explain or something – but I didn't care. I refused to speak to her again, to her or to Paul." He paused to draw in a shaky breath. "But you have to believe me: I would never hurt either of them. I had finally managed to put all of that behind me. I have a girlfriend now; I haven't thought of Mandy in months." Here Alex stepped in._

_"See – we all know that's not true, Jem. We've already spoken to Danny and Paul. Danny told us that on Saturday night, she had heard you and Paul arguing in the hallway when she went out for ice."_

_"She said that Mandy was definitely mentioned," Bobby added._

_"Which means that you had thought of Mandy as recently as last Saturday. Incidentally, you had thought of her right before she was killed," Alex finished coolly. Jem had taken a moment to respond._

_"Crap," he said, now staring at his intertwined thumbs. "I didn't want you to suspect me any more than you already do, and I hadn't thought that anyone had heard that."_

_"Always stick to the truth, kid," Decovy barked, startling Jem, who had almost forgotten the presence of the other two detectives: Decovy paced back and forth at one end of the room, while Falver quietly took notes at the table across from Jem. Alex and Bobby had glanced at each other, annoyed at the interruption to their usual interrogation style._

"I don't think he did it," Alex said suddenly, snapping out of her reverie. "What motive did he have?" Bobby raised his eyebrows: time to play devil's advocate.

"He did say he hated her – more than once. Sometimes hatred is enough."

"Then why wait until a year after they had broken up?" Alex looked pensive. "Besides, I don't think he ever really hated her. He was furious at her, sure, but a part of him still loved her. How else do you explain his confronting Paul that night?"

_"I heard them out in the hall that night," Jem had begun, still refusing to look any of them in the eye. "Paul and Danny, that is. Convenient how she forgot to add that she was a part of the discussion too. He was hitting on her – Paul, hitting on Danny, when he was going out with Mandy!" Alex could see the hint of tears welling up in his eyes; she couldn't tell if they were from anger, hurt, or both. "Seems like the guy has a penchant for breaking up best friends. To give credit to Danny, she mostly ignored him. Told him he was drunk, and to go back to his room. She left, but he didn't: he was just pacing, up and down, up and down in the hallway. I waited a few minutes, then came out. Maybe I was a little rough on him, but I was fuming. First he steals Mandy from me, then he goes on to break her heart…the bastard."_

_"What did you tell him?"_

_"Just to stay away…at least to have the decency to break up with her before making passes at other chicks. He said – he said he liked going out with someone whose father was well-known." He spat out each word as though it was poisonous; now fury filled his eyes. "That's when I hit him."_

_"And?" Jem sighed._

_"I had to remove myself before I completely lost control. I went back to my room; you can ask my roommate if you don't believe me."_

_"And then you got high." It was Decovy who asked._

_"Yes – then I got high." He seemed to grow more confident with his self-defense, straightening his posture and glaring at Decovy head-on. "But it was my first time in ages, I swear. I just needed to calm down, to escape. My roommate offered, and I accepted."_

_"We'll need to talk to this roommate," Falver spoke for the first time. "Can we have his name?" Jem scrawled a name and number on the proffered piece of paper: a Samuel Jacqueson. "And for the record-"_

_"Where were you on Sunday afternoon?" Decovy completed, not letting his partner finish._

_"I was out skiing. I know," he said, anticipating the detectives' protests. "I know I can't prove it. You can ask my roommate or my friends if you'll trust them. Or the lift attendants. Ask if they remember a guy in a pink ski-suit." He half-smiled at the memory. "Sam dared me to wear it."_

"Well, what about his alibi?" Bobby continued.

"It's hardly strong, and of course there is the question of-"

"-the pink ski suit."

"Yeah, that. But I don't think he's our guy." Bobby nodded.

"Someone could have found out about the pink ski-suit and framed him." Alex looked up sharply.

"So you agree with me?" she asked.

"Of course." Alex rolled her eyes; Bobby laughed.

"So, without Jem…that leaves the parents and Paul, who is looking considerably more suspicious."

"And Reverend Aglison. Something about him doesn't sit right with me."

"So in essence, right back where we started from."

"Four suspects, completely unrelated to one another and each with minimal – if any – motive." Bobby paused, then crossed the room and opened the mini-bar. "Something to drink?"

"I think it's imperative." He poured them each a glass of mild red wine, then brought the drinks over and resumed his position on the couch. They sat in silence for a few moments, Alex watching her drink swirl in its glass before sipping it.

"Alex," he began; if she was startled by his use of her first name, she did not show it. Before he could continue, however, she held up a hand to stop him.

"Don't – don't. I won't make you ask." She paused. "I - "

"Alex," he leaned forward, then cradled one of her hands in two of his own. His eyes felt as though they were burning holes in her head, yet she couldn't look away. "Do you remember telling me I needed to trust you in order for this partnership to work?" She nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Well, now it's your turn. You have to trust me, too."

"Of course I trust you." Alex sighed. "Promise not to interrupt me?" He readily agreed.

It was difficult for Alex to begin. "My husband – Michael Hewson – and I were married nearly ten years ago. He was a cop; I was right out of college and had a relatively well-paying job as some executive's secretary. We certainly didn't have a fairy tale marriage, but we were happy….until three years into our marriage, in '97. He was working a stakeout for a case in Narcotics, one that involved diamonds and a huge amount of money. At the time, I demanded to know the details; I've since forgotten them or blocked them out. No point in living in the past.

"He and his partner were undercover to trap the drug-lord. Michael was stationed as bait, with a suitcase full of diamonds; his partner was disguised as some bum on the streets a few blocks down, supposedly ready to jump out at the guy after he accepted the diamonds. But something went wrong, and Michael was shot." She spoke detachedly, staring at their joined hands, but when she looked up, Bobby was shocked at the utter vulnerably in her eyes. "They ended up not only losing Michael, but the diamonds as well. His partner somehow couldn't get to the scene in time.

"The case was brought to trial, and all evidence pointed to the partner. He was only a block away, but he couldn't get there in time? He was also one of four who had known the diamonds were real, the others being Michael, their captain, and the drug-lord himself. It couldn't have been the druggie, because he was found a few days later, killed before any of this had gone down. But apparently there wasn't enough evidence to convict this partner, and he was acquitted. Fled town the next day, big surprise. Haven't seen him since.

"But I know it was him. Bastard didn't even have the courage to come to my apartment – he called me on the phone! Gave me the basics, then hung up – without even a standard 'I'm sorry for your loss'. Four days later, he was late to the service." She shook her head. "I know it was him.

"You're probably wondering where Decovy factors into all of this," she said, glancing up at Bobby again: he was listening intently. "The partner – he was none other than Travis Decovy. Decovy was in the NYPD Narcotics until '97, when he disappeared from the face of the Earth. His reputation in New York was ruined, but I guess a few years later he showed up here.

"And then he has the nerve to call me 'Mrs. Hewson'. Just so you know, I _never_ went by that; I always stuck to my maiden name at work. Work which a few years later involved the NYPD; after his death, I couldn't stand the injustice of the world, and decided the best way to battle it was to join New York's finest. Every bad guy I've shot I've pictured with Decovy's face." She stopped. "You can talk now."

For a moment Bobby remained motionless. It was an awkward position he found himself in: this was the kind of conversation that was held between the closest of friends, not between partners at work. He and Alex – they were co-workers: they weren't about emotion, they were about catching the bad guy. A part of him, though, scoffed at that thought: when had Bobby last allowed himself not to become emotionally involved in a case? But not Alex…Alex was always so controlled. With a jolt, Bobby realized that this was how she must feel much of the time – Alex, the unspoken nurse to his demons. She usually settled the matter with a well-placed snarkish comment, sometimes with traditional but motivational encouragement. But sarcasm didn't suit him…he glanced up at her waiting face.

"Alex…" Again the first name, she noted. "Alex, I'm so sorry." Hesitant at first, he slowly leaned forward and pulled her into a hug. Surprised, Alex allowed her head to gently rest on his shoulder, and Bobby realized for the first time how small she was. Without pulling back from the embrace, he murmured: "If there is any evidence – anything at all, we _will_ find it. And we _will_ get him."

"You shouldn't make promises like that," she whispered, and they were both reminded of the first case they had worked together. Bobby shifted slightly.

"This one I will keep." She didn't want to take comfort in his confidence, but she couldn't help it. They both ignored the single hot tear Bobby felt on his shoulder.

* * *

_December 25th, 2004_

Alex was woken by the irritating shrill of the hotel room phone the next morning. Groggily, she glanced past her gun and holster at the bedside clock: 6:27 AM. Who the hell was calling at this hour…

"Eames."

"Detective Eames, I'm sorry to wake you so early. It's Peter Falver." Alex inwardly groaned, then raised herself on her elbows. Time for business.

"Morning, Detective Falver. Any miraculous confessions overnight?" On his end, Peter grinned. He didn't quite understand Decovy's problem with Eames; she seemed like a fine enough detective to him, determined and intelligent but fun.

"Unfortunately, no. I just got a call from the ME. The results are in on Mandy Turner. However, she says that if we want anything, we have to stop by _now_. She's got some sort of Christmas obligation in the afternoon." _God, it's Christmas today?_ Alex wondered, flipping open her cell-phone. December 25th indeed. She made a mental note to call her sister and parents later.

"Yeah, it's no problem. Aside from the waking Goren aspect. And where am I headed again?"

Falver hung up the phone five minutes later, having arranged to meet the New Yorkers in front of the medical examiner's office in a half-hour. He rose, grabbing his coat and two cups of the office's so-called coffee, and met Decovy as he exited the elevator.

"Turn around, partner. We're off to the ME. Meeting Goren and Eames there in" – he checked his watch – "Twenty-seven minutes. I brought you coffee." Decovy accepted the drink Falver offered him, watching him warily under heavily lidded eyes. Falver was several years older than Decovy, a 53 compared to his own 42 years, and not for the first time, Decovy was concerned that he was growing soft in his old age. Soft was not something Decovy deemed acceptable in a partner.

"Thanks," he said. "ME has results on Mandy Turner, I assume?"

"None other," Falver replied. He hesitated for a moment as they exited through revolving doors to the street, where they mutually decided to walk the two blocks to the office. "Listen – I spoke to Detective Eames this morning."

"Did you?" Decovy retorted sharply. Running into Eames again had left him unable to sleep easy; she knew too much about his former life – information that could damage his place here in Vermont.

"Mm…woke her up to notify her about Mandy. I – I don't really understand what you find so terrible about her. Do you two have some sort of history?" Decovy gave a short laugh.

"You could say that. Eames' husband was my partner back in New York."

"Oh – so you go back quite a while."

"He died in the line of duty. Made things a little awkward." _Still didn't explain his apparent hatred for her – and vice versa._ But Falver decided it was best to let sleeping dogs lie; he had seen an angry Decovy before, and had no desire to become further acquainted with him. Time for a change in topic.

"So, what are your thoughts on the Turner case?" They made a right on to Freelin Way.

"I'm favoring the boyfriend."

"Don't you think that's too obvious?"

"Ockham's Razor, my friend."

"Have you looked over Goren and Eames' notes?"

"Not yet."

"Probably should."

"I will, eventually." Falver half-groaned in frustration: on days like today, Decovy was a difficult partner to have. A thought occurred to him as they approached the building; he turned to Decovy and asked in a low voice.

"Have we gotten any – you know – _calls_ yet?" Decovy spun so abruptly that Falver was startled and took a step backwards. However, what Decovy's verbal response would have been, Falver would not learn. At that moment, Goren and Eames stepped out of a parked SUV. Eames pointedly ignored Decovy, offered a quick 'Good Morning' to Falver, and disappeared into the office. Goren, looking slightly sheepish, nodded to both of them.

"Shall we?" he asked, beckoning to the front door. But his gaze at Decovy was cold – something that did not escape Falver's old but keen eyes.

* * *

_Apartment of Scott and Michelle Turner_

_New York City, New York_

"Yes…yes," Scott Turner sighed heavily, bringing a hand up to massage his temples as he squinted tiredly. "Yes…thank you. We'll be up early tomorrow." He hung up the phone, then sagged back against the wall before proceeding to where his wife lay in their bedroom. She was crumpled on the mattress, motionless; he hated to wake her when she had finally managed to fall asleep. Michelle had been more distraught this week than he had ever seen her; he himself had retreated back into his shell of mourning after that first night. It was how he and Michelle usually handled their pain: this new, open bereavement was something he wasn't quite sure how to manage.

"Scott…I'm awake," Michelle muttered into the pillow. "I heard the phone…" He braced himself as he walked over to the bed and settled himself next to Michelle, one hand lightly stroking her back. This close, he could hear her almost silent tears.

"That was Captain David Thorman of the Killington Police Department." His voice cracked; he swallowed, trying to stay in control. Four days later and none of this felt any more real. "They've – they've found her, Michelle. They've found Mandy." She didn't need to turn around to see the news wasn't good; it was what they had both known, but what they had both refused to accept. Michelle's sobs grew louder; Scott wiped away a few tears of his own with his spare hand. _Later_, he told himself_, later. _"They want us to drive up there to ID the body. Thorman apologizes for the inconvenience, but the detectives want to keep her at the scene of the crime, until all necessary investigation has been completed and evidence collected."

"It's not use," she moaned.

"I know," he said, soothingly, still attempting to cover his own emotion. This was the worst of it: "They – they said some sort of acid was sprayed on her, and because of it she is barely distinguishable." At this, Michelle let out a particularly loud cry. With each sob, his wife felt more and more foreign to Scott. He reached for one of her hands with the one that wasn't rubbing her back; at his touch, she pulled away violently, and he felt as if he were intruding on her privacy.

"Michelle, I wish there was something I could do for you," he said softly. "You never let me see you cry. Not when your mom died, or your father…not with your sister…" He paused both in movement and in speech. "Is…is this something to do with Alison?"

It was as if he had pushed the final button to discharge the atomic bomb. Michelle flew off the bed, knocking his hand astray, her eyes wild with rage only heightened by her still pouring tears. Her hands clawed and pushed at him to get off of their bed.

"Get away from me, you son of a bitch!" she cried; he jumped off the bed. "I know you never stopped loving her – even now she's all you can think about. Get out!" As he retreated to the door, she made a half-hearted attempt to throw a pillow at him. It landed halfway across the room. "Get out…"

He was already gone.

* * *

_So...reviews? lol - thanks to all of those who have already responded, your comments have given me so much motivation and advice! have a great day :)_


	7. Mothers of the Disappeared

_Title: Winter Fun, Chapter Seven_

_Author: Kerry_

_Disclaimer: If I owned Law and Order, D'Onofrio and Erbe would absolutely loathe me, because I'd have them working all summer long. No rerun episodes! New ones, every Sunday night. 52 episodes a year! (Translation: I own nothing you recognize.)_

_A/n: Yes! I know it's been a while! I've actually been involved in some other projects – one involving a short story from the perspective of an bitter old man – who, oh yeah, is dead. It's been pretty interesting. But I haven't forgotten about this one…ah yes, I have big plans. insert evil laugh So thanks for sticking around and not forgetting about me – and I hope you're all having a great summer! You already know what the whole thing about reviews is...0:) Always appreciated greatly._

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Mothers of the Disappeared**

_The Medical Examiner's Office_

_Killington, Vermont_

Doctor Laurie Janelson lost no time in leading the group of detectives to Mandy's body. "You four are the only ones insane enough to continue investigation today," she tossed over her shoulder as they proceeded down the narrow, whitewashed hallway. Falver inwardly sighed, thinking _or alone enough_. They came to the exam room, and Laurie turned, compelled to warn them: "I know you lot are detectives and used to this kind of stuff – but it's pretty gruesome." She spoke the truth: Mandy's face was by now unrecognizable due to the acid that had been sprayed on it post-mortem. What features that remained were grossly bloated. It was evident where the bullet had pierced her forehead, but surprisingly, little damage had been done to her countenance as a result of the gun. Her blonde hair remained sleek; the rest of her body was covered with a standard blue sheet.

Neither Goren nor Eames had a visible reaction to the body. _But then_, Falver reminded himself_, they are detectives of the NYPD Major Case Squad. _Surely they had seen cases far worse than this. Himself, he loathed the ME's office and all that related to it. It reminded him too strongly of his wife – of a time when he had not been the cop within these walls, but the grieving widower. The medical examiner began explaining the situation to his peers, but Falver's mind was elsewhere.

Peter Falver had not always been the meek, compliant Holmes to Decovy's Sherlock. Once upon a time, he had instead been the annoyingly loud and boisterous officer everyone loved to hate, but missed when he was on vacation during a particularly nasty case. Once upon a time, he hadn't been the short, pot-bellied and balding assistant, but the thin, muscular detective whose commanding presence made up for his height.

"We've identified the acid used: hydrochloric acid. Unfortunately, that doesn't narrow your search down much: the chemical is available everywhere from high school chemistry labs to cleaning products. It's usually harmless, but when administered in such high quantities…" Dr. Janelson said, and Falver was reminded of his wife's overdose. It had been six years ago, but his pain was still fresh, like a cut on which salt was continually sprinkled. Advil: harmless in small amounts, but lethal in high concentrations, especially when taken with the intent to die. Being a cop's wife: bearable at first, when the hours were short and the love was strong, but too much when your husband the cop was not only out all night but had begun bringing the job home with him. When your husband the cop saw the dinner you had spent all afternoon preparing for him and saw only the elaborate meal the mistress had prepared for the rich man before killing him.

"Cause of death was the single gunshot to the head," Laurie continued.

"What type of gun was used?" Decovy asked, moving closer to the head of the cot, across from where Goren and Eames stood. Decovy: he had been Falver's saving grace, or so he told him. Falver had left the force for two years after his wife's suicide, until he was hunted down by the outsider from New York who said "they would make a good team". Falver had needed something to distract him before he too reached for the bottle of pills in the top cabinet, and so he accepted. At the time, he had figured it would only last a few months, at most a year; big city cops were rarely satisfied with the quieter Vermont life. Four years later, and Falver wasn't sure if he had made the right choice. But even more so, he wasn't sure if he cared.

".22 caliber," she responded. "I'd put time of death anywhere between Monday afternoon and early Tuesday morning, judging by the extent of decomposition. Aside from the acid, nothing was too unusual about the body."

"No rape, bruising?" Alex asked.

"Semen was found matching Paul Jamison's DNA," – Bobby and Alex had collected samples from both Danny and Paul before leaving Amherst – "but it appeared to be consensual. Otherwise, the only DNA on the body was Mandy's."

"Can you tell how recently they slept together?"

"Saturday night, at latest Sunday afternoon." Bobby and Alex glanced at each other: that coincided with what Paul had told them, except for the fact that he hadn't returned to the hotel because of an injury. What else had Paul chosen to edit…

"No signs of a struggle, which corresponds with your reports of intact tree branches and shrubs," Laurie said, nodding at Decovy. "I'm no detective, but judging by the body, I'd say she was either caught completely off-guard-"

"Unlikely if they were isolated in the after-hours of the ski day in the middle of the woods – she'd have to be pretty anxious," Bobby contributed.

"Or the killer was not only someone she knew, but someone she trusted," she finished. "Now I have to be closing up: the Christmas turkey won't cook itself. Any questions?"

As Falver followed Decovy out of the room, Alex and Bobby lingered behind slightly. "Do you want to split them up?" Bobby asked, indicating Decovy and Falver with a subtle pointing of his hand as he turned to face Alex.

"Read my mind," she replied, staring at the now-closed door. "I'll take Falver – I doubt Decovy has changed much from the slimeball he was seven years ago, but I'd like to hear your take on him."

"Sounds good." He held the door open for her, but was held back by the medical examiner, whose presence they had nearly forgotten.

"So you two are the detectives from New York," she began as she closed up some files and added them to a pile on her desk. "Good luck working with the infamous duo."

"Decovy and Falver?" Alex questioned. At Laurie's assent, she continued. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, he's a shady one – Decovy, that is. Falver's pretty much a shell of a man after his wife's OD six years ago; he goes through the motions, but isn't half the guy he used to be. They have an excellent solve rate, no doubt about that, but…" She hesitated.

"But what?" Bobby asked, intrigued. She looked up at him.

"Well – they've been on a few cases I thought were pretty clear, but that were left unsolved. Maybe I'm missing something," she shrugged. "But it always struck me as odd. Anyway, I've got to go – good luck with the Turner case." She grinned at them as she ushered them out the door. "But for God's sake – it's Christmas. Try to cut yourself a little slack." Alex laughed.

"We'll try, Dr. Janelson."

"Oh, call me Laurie."

"Well, thanks Laurie – you've been helpful." To Bobby, she added: "You'd better hurry before you lose Decovy." The man was already halfway down the street. Bobby nodded; glancing at him, Alex could see the all too familiar pensive, scholarly look now lined his features. "Falver just turned into that café, so I'm off – I'll meet you back at the hotel around one?" She didn't wait for the response she knew she wouldn't get. Bobby was too far gone inside his head for normal conversation. She only hoped he pulled himself together for his "interrogation" of Decovy.

* * *

Detective Travis Decovy had just made it to the intersection of Mountain Road and Main Street – where the medical examiner's office was located – when he was abruptly called back. Recognizing the voice, he made a face of disgust: the over-reactive, touchy-feely detective Eames had somehow wound up with. Bad enough that she had been dragged back into his life…now, this extra, brawny detective was too much.

"Detective Decovy!" Bobby called again, jogging across the road and coming to a stop directly before Decovy. Contrary to the New Yorker's serious countenance in the medical examiner's office, the taller man now sported a goofy-looking grin. It made Decovy want to punch him in the face. "I was wondering, do you have a shooting range around here that I could use?" Decovy looked at him sideways, sizing him up. What kind of game was this guy playing at? It was Christmas Day…and he wanted to go the shooting range…?

"Festive guy you are," he eventually responded. Goren laughed, not so much at Decovy's rather insipid comment as at what the expression on Alex's face would look like when she heard of Goren's excuse for speaking with Decovy. So the shooting range idea didn't make much logical sense…but Bobby was hopeful that it would spark a competitive edge in Decovy – and, in doing so, spark an invite into analyzing Decovy's character.

"Yeah, well, not much better to do, is there? Besides, I want to be ready for this guy when we catch him."

"Or her," Decovy added somewhat triumphantly. _Aha_, thought Bobby_, there's the competitive nature._

"Of course. Either way, I wouldn't want him – or her – getting away." Bobby shuffled back and forth in his stance as he waited for Decovy's response. He knew all these apparent idiosyncrasies – the anxiety, the pre-emptive conclusions – would make him seem inexperienced. With Decovy underestimating him, information would be much easier to weasel out.

"Fine," Decovy replied curtly after a few moments pause. "But only because I have nothing else better to do."

"Doesn't sound like a very good defense to me," Bobby commented as he followed Decovy up Mountain Road. Decovy glanced over his shoulder and gave Bobby an absolutely scathing look; in response, Bobby had to struggle not to smile.

* * *

"Your shot," Bobby said an hour later, now clad in a traditional workout outfit: sweats and what he refused to call a wife beater. He stepped aside in the booth the two were using; Decovy stepped forward and aimed his gun towards the target dummy across the room. Bobby watched his index finger curl as if in slow motion. It curled around the trigger, pulled back, release…and bang! Someone's life is over. Sometimes just the fact that such a crime could be committed so easily hurt in itself: what had happened to humanity?

And had these been Mandy Turner's thoughts that fateful last night of December twenty-second? Had she watched her attacker's finger slowly wrap around the trigger, watched it slowly tighten, and then inevitably release…and then watched someone's life end. Her own.

"Why so silent?" Decovy asked, loading more bullets into his gun. He did not make eye contact with Bobby as he spoke.

"Just thinking about the case."

"Ah," Decovy commented, pausing and weighing the gun in his hands, as if weighing his next words mentally. "So…I suppose by now Eames has given you the heads up?"

"What do you mean?" Bobby decided to play dumb in order to get Decovy's side of the story.

"How I was partners with her husband back in New York?"

"Oh, yeah, that – pretty strange coincidence, eh?" Bobby prayed his years of undercover work were taking effect and that his face did not show the boiling fury he felt inside. "Hey – I heard her husband actually died in the line of duty, but I've never really been clear on the details." Decovy gave him a suspicious look.

"How long have the two of you been partners?" he asked, gaze now fixed on Bobby, the gun idle in his open palm.

"About four years now, I believe."

"And you still don't know how her husband died?" He sounded skeptical; Bobby responded by injecting a slightly defensive tone to his voice.

"Yeah…well, it happened long before I met her. And it's not really the kind of thing you bring up in common conversation, you know? She's only mentioned the whole thing once or twice in the whole time I've known her." All true.

"Wow," Decovy responded, looking surprised. "Strong woman, that is." Bobby gave a genuine smile at that comment before agreeing, but it irritated him that the compliment was one coming from this particular ma.

"So…do you know how it happened?"

"Michael's death? Oh yeah – I was actually his partner at the time. I suppose some hold me responsible, even. We were out in an undercover situation that went pretty bad: Mike ended up getting shot, and the perp ended up getting away with a suitcase full of diamonds."

"Damn."

"Yeah. I switched out of New York afterwards, it got so bad. Took a couple years off, then ended up here. Once a cop, always a cop." To add finality to this closing statement, he straightened. Curl. Tighten. Release.

Bang.

Bobby wondered what other purpose the gun the man in front of him now held had once served.

"So," Decovy turned to face Bobby again. "Enjoying the lovely Alexandra?" Bobby raised an eyebrow.

"As a partner, she's excellent…but I'm not sure what you're implying there, Decovy." Decovy laughed.

"Aw, come on – don't play innocent. You and I both know she's a beautiful girl." _Woman, _Bobby mentally corrected. He had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying it out loud.

"Decovy, I think I need to shower just to wash that thought away." It was not difficult for Bobby to act disgusted: he was, indeed, thoroughly disgusted with Decovy's masochistic attitude and his demeaning comments towards Alex.

"Right – like you don't need a shower already," Decovy replied lightly, scanning over the sweat Bobby had managed to work up during their exercise session. Bobby laughed and hoped the sound was not as hollow as it felt.

"You're right. In fact, I should get going…the locker room is down that way?"

As Bobby washed up in the locker room, he reflected on the past hour and a half of interaction. Alex had been dead-on with her characterization of Decovy – but then, he reminded himself, when was she ever not? The woman proved the age old adage about a woman's intuition every day on the job. Decovy just seemed so…fake. While their conversation had been – for the most part – harmless, whenever Decovy had allowed a part of his actual personality to show through, Bobby had had to bit down his upper lip to keep it from curling in disgust. And that last comment about Alex…well, it was fortunate that Bobby – again, for the most part – was a very in-control man. At least while Alex was around.

_Are you enjoying the lovely Alexandra?_

The words resonated in his head as he stepped out of the shower and began putting on his suit from earlier that morning. It wasn't the first time he had heard such a comment; the unspoken bond he and his partner shared was oftentimes misinterpreted simply because it was so infrequently understood. He and Alex were partners in ever sense of the word – they always had each other's back no matter the situation – but nothing more.

Had the thought crossed his mind before? Certainly: he was only human. He had a quick flashback to the evening before, when he had for the first time actually, physically held Alex: it had been different, but oddly comfortable. As a rule, he and Alex kept the physical connection to a minimum; the emotional connection was all that was really needed for both. He doubted either of them sought anything more.

When Bobby stepped back outside the building, he found Decovy waiting for him, cell phone in hand. "You take long showers, man," he said, smirking slightly. "And you missed a rather important phone call."

"Mmm?"

"ME's office. Laurie came back to work to pick up some papers she had accidentally left behind – and noticed something rather interesting."

"Get on with it."

"Michelle Turner is not Mandy's mother."

"What?" Bobby wasn't sure if he had heard Decovy correctly.

"Oh, so now you want the explanation. Laurie generally checks the vic's DNA against DNA of reported family members in order to have definite identification – especially in cases like this one, where the victim is so physically defiled. With the parents' DNA that you two brought up, she was able to run some tests: while Scott Turner is undoubtedly Mandy's father, there is no DNA correspondence between Mandy and Michelle."

"Well…that changes things," Bobby finally managed to get out, still caught slightly off-guard. "I'd better go get the word to Eames." Decovy nodded his goodbye, then turned and began walking away. He had made it a few feet before his cell went off again: evidently, however, it was not something that concerned Bobby, as Decovy continued walking. And so Bobby did not hear the voice that told Trevor Decovy without missing a beat:

"Detective Decovy? My name is Michelle Turner, and I understand you are currently investigating my daughter's murder. I need your help."

* * *

_Apartment of Scott and Michelle Turner_

_New York, New York_

On the other end of the phone line in New York, Scott Turner walked past his wife of twenty-seven years. Still refusing to talk to him, Michelle was instead on the phone with yet another group of detectives. Scott grabbed his coat and told Michelle he was heading out, but received no response.

He arrived at the cemetery with only the vaguest recollection of how he had gotten there. As his feet traced the path he had been down countless times, it crossed his mind that soon he would be burying another loved one here. The thought, thought, did not provoke any tears: today he was numb to all emotion. It was the way he preferred it: numbness he would take over aching pain and sore heart any day.

He came to the clearing that had been formed twenty-one years ago, and for the thousandth time knelt in front of the tombstone, lightly tracing the engravings with a calloused fingertip. It read:

_Alison Relm_

_Born August 8th, 1956; Died September 17th, 1983_

_Beloved daughter, sister, and mother_

_May she rest in peace._

_Such a simple marking_, he thought. But Alison…Alison wouldn't have wanted anything else. Except to have been able to see her daughter grow up…to grow up and mature into his beautiful, beautiful Mandy.

"Alison," he attempted to say, but found he had no voice. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Alison, the girls are coming down tonight. We've decided to – to bury her on Sunday; the medical examiner said that would work. Michelle won't let me bury her next to you, but she will be nearby. I hope – I hope you two are together in heaven now. Alison, isn't she the most precious girl…you would have so loved watching her grow up. And Mandy, you finally get to meet your mother. You look so much like her, you know…" His voice trailed off, and his always perfect posture slumped as he stared at his now entwined hands in his lap. He slowly twisted the wedding band on his left hand as he spoke next.

"Alison…Alison, I'm so sorry for all of this. So sorry…more so than you could ever imagine. I'm sorry for not being there for you…for not being there to protect our daughter…Mandy, I should've been there for you; I should've been able to prevent this…" He choked up, and could no longer speak as he huddled in front of tombstone, shaking with dry sobs. He could only pray for the return of the numbness.

* * *

_The title_ _for this chapter is borrowed from a U2 song off of **Joshua Tree,** Mothers of the Disappeared. Thelyrics are:_

_Midnight, our sons and daughters  
Were cut down and taken from us.  
Hear their heartbeat  
We hear their heartbeat._

In the wind we hear their laughter  
In the rain we see their tears.  
Hear their heartbeat, we hear their heartbeat.

Night hangs like a prisoner  
Stretched over black and blue.  
Hear their heartbeats  
We hear their heartbeats.

In the trees our sons stand naked  
Through the walls our daughter cry  
See their tears in the rainfall.

_Thanks for reading! Any questions, comments, constructive criticism is all welcome and much appreciated._


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